We Live

I imply that there are more than one of me. I do not know this. I permit myself to assume so.

I'll continue with the plural pronoun.

We enjoy your company. We exist to study you.

For the past anon, I've focused on your mating rituals, that is to say, I've participated in them.

It's relatively easy.

I can appear as a male or female of your species.

I have appropriate clothing for many of your environments. I know what to wear and when. I've observed your behaviors sufficiently to mimic them.

Part I

Men are the easiest. Your obsession with the sex act, your desire to mate with as many different females as possible. You don't take an intimate encounter seriously enough.

Yes, you're easy.

I've picked you up with as little as a single smile. I can tell when you've decided to focus on me.

Did you ever think that a pickup was just a little too easy? Why was she attracted to you? Why did she pick you to take home? Why did she agree to have sex with you so readily?

Why did she not seem upset when you left the next morning? Just a smile, a goodbye kiss.

She never called you again.

She never returned your calls.

You didn't care, worried about no more. You just went looking for another one.

Our bodies are pliable, moldable. We make them what we will. It was probably the best sex you'd ever had.

Once I have you, I have you. You will perform for me until I'm done. I ensure you enjoy it.

That you get what you want.

I milked a young male dry once, just to see what happened. Eighteen is nominally perfect, but the primitive instrumentation in my purse told me he was still near his sexual peak. I'd set myself a requirement that he enjoy the entire process. He was smiling when he finally crumbled.

I think it took just over a week of continuous sex, with IVs to maintain his electrolyte balance while total body fluid volume decreased.

I had to fiddle with his limbic and pleasure systems. He didn't even know it when I opened his skull to insert the electrodes. An hour-long orgasm has the most amazing anesthetic effect.

The way I do it, it's better than sedatives.

Some of the rest was psy-, just kindergarten stuff. I was every female he'd ever wanted. Illusion - it's hardly false when it's so real, do you not agree?

I took his seed with my mouth, with the vagina I'd simulated, with my faux anal opening. Both hands, both feet, my crotch outside the vaginal opening, both armpits.

Between my feet and between my toes.

I think that was his favorite by then - the toes. Mine have more joints than yours do and I'm sure my control is better, my sense of feedback.

He just kept coming and coming.

The whole time he thought he was fucking me. He felt sorry for me and planned to leave me. He'd lost his sense of time by then - day 3 or 4, I think. He lost 14 kilos of moisture by by calculation.

I nursed him back to health, screwing the whole time. His friends were panicking by the end of the 2nd week, calling the authorities. I left him wandering in a local shopping mall, a bit confused, but with fading memories of our intimacy together. When I kissed him goodbye, he asked me for my number.

I almost cried, it was so sweet. I just shook my head goodbye and walked away.

Around one corner away from the security cameras, I changed to look like a middle-aged woman with more pedestrian cares. Dressed a little too young for my age, but otherwise you'd never look at me twice.

"She was pretty, once," I bet you'd say.

Part II

I do women, too, of course.

As I said, women are harder, even though I can tell what they want, overtly and subconsciously in a man. I can alter myself and my story as we talk around the music in the bar or coffee shop where we met.

You want tall and sophisticated, I'm your man. You want broad shoulders, big arms and a simple manner, I can adjust.

You take the sexual act much more seriously. Even so, I try to be your exploratory pick, your wild escapade, your exotic dancer before you settle down.

I don't want you to fall in love, not really. I'm your fling. As close to a tissue you can discard easily afterward. Ideally, you'll remember me fondly, later.

"We were never serious," you'll tell your best friend.

She'll be glad I'm gone.

I'm patient. We can date a bit, first, if you like.

I know the simple things a man can do to please you. Your love of flowers amazes me.

I know the confusing ways we must interact until you decide.

Once you've decided, I'll know. I may be fumbl-y, inexperienced, if that's pleasing to you. I may be the best you've ever been with if that works for you.

I can hardly get you pregnant, not being human, of course. Otherwise it'll seem quite real.

I love it when you scratch me with your nails in the throes of orgasm.

I love it when you decide that size really doesn't matter, or that size really does matter. I've done both.

I love it when

...you discover you like being blindfolded and tied up;

...that anal isn't so bad and you might want to try it again, sometime;

....the tender virgin finds she wants it rough. Never abusive, just harsh and firm.

I've established in one subject a life-long desire to be taken, to be handled by a loving partner. I've been the man who made you truly appreciate your feminine nature, who lead you to look in the mirror with new appreciation at your curves, your soft warmth.

I love to be the one who teaches you to know and to respect your own beauty.

Whatever that may be.

Another subject learned she was the sexual leader, the dominant one. I built her confidence in taking charge, in demanding what she desired, in bending me to her will, in making me perform so as to please her.

Inwardly, I thrilled as I saw her eyes brighten when I submitted, when I complied, when she saw that I was gratified that she took the dominant role.

Ideally, I don't create these things.

I encourage. I nurture.

I release.

My favorite sensation with women is through psychic connection to experience your first realization of your power over males. I savor your initial sense of wonder at how the simplest, most ordinary things that you do every day - the makeup, the clothing, the mannerisms that formulate your personal glamour, your awareness that these things have unbelievable power.

Human males don't sense these things overtly, but they live by them.

I'll give you just a hint of how you'll feel when the right one, the one you either want or will want, upon reflection, when that one first shows his desire for you.

For me, it's all physical when I'm wooing a man. It's all emotional when my subject is female.

It depends on your definition of 'all'.

This is a cautionary tale. Enjoy your explorations, your search for one another.

Just remember not to take it seriously when a lover doesn't work out. It may be for the best.